Chapter 7: Turning Tables

I need a hero

Greer Wayne stood outside the gym dressed in workout clothes and sunglasses. She stood there with her hands in her pockets and slowly bounced on her toes as she nervously waited. She had wanted to get started right away, but Jim had insisted that they wait at least a week to give her hand some time to heal. But Greer was finding that it wasn't so hard to push through the pain. In fact, her pain seemed to push her to want to do more.

A black car pulled into the parking lot and parked. Jim Gordon exited the car. He saw Greer waiting by the door and his brow furrowed before he looked down at the watch on his wrist and then back up to Greer again. "I thought we said six," Jim called as he slung his gym bag over his shoulder.

"We did."

"It's half past five." He slammed his car door shut and began walking closer toward her and the gym.

"I know. I got here early. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I was serious about this. That it's not some fleeting notion of some silly rich girl trying to waste your time. I know what the papers say about me."

"I've never thought of you as some silly rich girl." Jim opened the door to the gym and held it open for Greer to walk through. "And for the record, I never read the gossip column. It gives me a headache."

Greer took a step closer to him and then stopped. She raised herself to her full height and then looked up directly at him. "I want to do this."

"Yeah, I kinda got that when you asked me last week..and then the multiple phone calls...and the doctor's note clearing you for activity which I'm pretty sure you either forged or coerced a doctor into signing."

Greer smiled at his last statement. "I'm Greer Wayne. I didn't have to do either." She flipped her ponytail and turned to walk into the gym. Jim shook his head with a slight smile on his face before he followed her inside. Greer removed her sunglasses when she realized that the only other person inside the gym was the guy at the desk.

"Morning, Sean," Jim said waving at the guy before he dropped his bag on a bench.

"Morning, Jim," the man greeted without even looking up from his newspaper. Greer tried to shield her face from the guy with her hand as she walked by him, but she quickly noticed that he wasn't even paying any attention to her. She stood there in shock. It was a rare experience not to be mobbed by people or go unnoticed.

"You coming or not?" Jim called as he looked over his shoulder at Greer.

"Yeah." Greer walked up to Jim who was stretching his arms behind his head. She mirrored his action before asking. "What's first?"

He just smiled before mumbling, "You'll see." After a few minutes of stretching, Jim and Greer walked over to a treadmill. Greer looked at it with a confused expression on her face. "It's a treadmill. You run on it," Jim said leaning against the piece of machinery.

"Really? I never would have guessed." Greer responded sarcastically with her hands on her hips. "I thought you were going to teach me something. I already know how to run."

"Not very well."

She looked at him incredulously. That wasn't really fair and she told him so. "Every time you've seen me run I haven't been in shoes meant for running," she argued.

"How often do you actually wear shoes meant for running?" He raised an eyebrow at her fully getting his point across.

"Touche."

"Besides, your doctor might have cleared you and that gimp hand of yours, but it doesn't mean I have."

Greer shook her head and slightly narrowed her eyes. "You're mean. I'll have you know that I won first place at a track meet once."

"Yeah, you should've figured that out before you asked me to train you. Now up you go."

Jim patted the treadmill. Greer rolled her eyes before she took her zip-up hoodie off and hung it on the front of the machine. She placed her water bottle in the cup holder and then she reluctantly stepped onto the treadmill. Her hand moved to start it, but Jim started it for her. The pace was a little faster than she would have picked for herself. She would have preferred to start at a walking pace, but Jim had picked a jogging pace.

Greer hated running. She absolutely hated it. She often heard people exclaiming over the rush they got from running but all Greer ever got was sweaty. Jim stepped onto the treadmill beside her and began to jog. In the corner of her eye, she watched him run. He almost appeared graceful with her focused expression and steady gait. Greer could already feel her face beginning to get all red and blotchy. She dabbed at the sweat forming on the back of her neck.

"Ok, we've been at this forever. When can we stop?" Greer asked.

"It's been five minutes."

"Oh. My. God. Just kill me now. Put me out of my misery." Greer reached for her water bottle in the cup holder. She pulled the top up with her teeth before she squirted water into her mouth. "It will be quicker and much less painful for the both of us."

"What about that first place at your track meet?"

"I might have left out the fact that I was thirteen...and it was a field event. "

Jim shook his head and laughed as he jogged beside her. "Which event," he asked.

"High jump. A lot of people write the short people off. I proved them wrong. That..or everyone else purposely scored low because my daddy donated money for the new track. There were rumors, but I never found evidence to support their claims."

"Rigging a junior high track meet. That's a new one." Jim shook his head once more and then his focus quickly went back to the wall in front of him.

So Greer turned her attention to the lone television on the wall in front of the treadmills. The local news was playing. A man sat at the desk dressed in a suit. "And let's go live for the latest news on the situation with Claire Singer," the man announced.

"Thanks, Jason," Claire said as she brushed windswept hair from her face. "I'm coming to you with the latest wrinkle in a story that sent shockwaves through the financial world of Gotham. I'm standing before the home of Ronald Danzer, the man who bilked investors out of a reported half billion dollars in a vast Ponzi scheme. Danzer is currently out on bail awaiting trial…"

"So what do you think of that?" Greer asked as she pointed to the television.

"I've been told to say that I don't have a comment," Jim grumbled before he went back to concentrating on his running. Greer rolled her eyes. Jim Gordon certainly wasn't much of a running buddy.

When the running was finally over, they did crunches. When the crunches were done, they did V sit-ups. When the V sit-ups were done, they did lunges. When the lunges were done, they finally moved onto something that could prove to be a little more helpful: self-defense techniques. "It's about time," Greer muttered to herself as she pushed the stray tendrils of hair from her sweaty face. "I was afraid my wrist might actually heal before we got to anything."

"Funny." Jim walked closer toward her and grabbed a hold of her good wrist and squeezed.

"Ouch! What the hell! Are you trying to break my good wrist too?"

"No. It's your first lesson. Real life scenario: someone grabs your arm. How do you get away?"

Greer tried to wiggle her arm loose, but his grip remained tight."Well, I'd probably kick 'em where the sun don't shine."

"Alright. Give it a try." His tone seemed to challenge her.

Greer wasn't sure it was an appropriate place to be trying to kick him, but he told her to. So she did. She kicked, but he quickly moved out of the way of her kick. So, she tried again. She missed again. "Oh, c'mon, not everyone is going to be able to dodge like that."

"Where'd you learn that?"

"High school."

"We're not in high school anymore, Greer."

"I know, but I also know that a drunk guy isn't going to be able to move like you are. Now, can you let go?"

"Not until you get out of this."

"And how exactly do I do that?" Greer looked up at Jim with a slightly annoyed expression. But the truth was, it was all an act. Despite the fact that she did hate this sort of thing, this was probably the most real she had been with anybody in a long time. She then smiled at him. "Please?"

Jim gave her a half smile before he said, "This is a simple one hand, one wrist scenario. I have one hand on one of your wrists…"

"Yeah, I got that much from the hand on my wrist." She smirked at him.

But he didn't miss a beat. "You need to take a step back for stability and relax your wrist. The tighter your wrist is, the harder it is to turn it."

"Step back." Greer took a step back. "Wrist relaxed. Now what?"

"You're going to want to rotate your wrist toward my thumb because my grip will loosen and you should be able to retract your hand. Give it a try."

"Rotate wrist." Greer rotated her wrist and felt his grip loosen. "Retract hand." She pulled her hand away. "Voila!" She threw both her hands up in the air in celebration, but Jim quickly took hold of her wrist again, gripping it tightly above her head. "Hey! No fair!"

Still holding her arm above her head, he took a step closer to her and then looked down at her as he spoke. "An attacker isn't going to be fair. You need to make sure that you prevent your arm from being grabbed again...like I just did." Greer groaned and rolled her eyes. "Oh, and don't say all your steps out loud. Your attacker may be idiot enough to go after you, but I doubt he's that much of an idiot not to understand what you're doing. You need to make it seamless and quick."

Jim lowered her arm so that it was dangling between the two of them once more. She looked at him and slowly exhaled, trying to remember all the steps in her head before she tried them. "Alright," she whispered. She took a step back and relaxed her wrist. Then, she rotated her wrist and as his grip loosened she pulled her wrist away and put both hands behind her back.

"What the hell?" Jim grumbled before he walked away from her.

Greer scoffed and placed her hands on her hips. "You know, I was expecting a good job or something at least somewhat nice."

But Jim's was distracted by the television which he stood in front of. "Sean, turn the volume up!" Jim shouted over his shoulder with his arms folded across his chest.

Greer slowly walked over to where Jim stood in front of the television. She looked up as the camera focused on a balloon rising higher and higher into the air. "What is it?"

"That's not just a balloon." He pointed to the TV. "Ronald Danzer was handcuffed to that weather balloon. That's not normal."

"In case you've forgotten, this is Gotham. Nothing is normal around here."

"I gotta go," Jim said gruffly before turning toward Greer. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I-uh-yeah...I mean, if I haven't scared you away already."

"You're going to have to try harder if you want to scare me away," he said with a gentle smile. "I don't scare easily." With that, Jim walked away once more. He grabbed his gym bag from the bench and then headed for the door.

When Greer arrived back at Wayne Manor, she headed directly for the kitchen. After that workout, she was hungry. She opened the refrigerator and began to rummage through it. "Who the hell is in my kitchen?" a familiar voice drawled.

Greer closed the refrigerator door. She turned around and smiled at Alfred. "I believe it's actually my kitchen...at least until Bruce is of age."

"Oh? Then please, tell me how to make eggs benedict."

"With eggs." She hopped up onto one of the stools with a smartass smile on her face and Alfred leaned against the counter across from her.

"And?"

"Fine, you got me. It's your kitchen. And since I returned possession of the kitchen back over to you, will you please make me some breakfast? I'm starving. Who knew working out would cause such an appetite."

"Science, Miss Greer. I believe science explains that." Greer shook her head at Alfred. "How was your time with Detective Gordon?" Alfred asked pointedly.

"It's not like that," Greer said with a blush. "He's just doing me a favor and helping me train. That's it. Besides, he has a girlfriend...or a fiancee...or something. It's strictly professional."

"Your face says otherwise, Miss Greer." Alfred looked at Greer in a fatherly manner. "I don't want you getting overly attached to him. Mixing business with pleasure isn't a healthy thing...filling your head with romantic notions."

Greer was silent for a moment. "You're reading too much into things," she finally said after a minute.

"Am I?"

"Yeah, you are. Now, can we get back to breakfast, please?"

"I need to go wake Master Bruce and then I'll whip something up."

"Let me." Greer jumped from the stool and landed swiftly on her feet. "You worry about that food." She winked at Alfred before she walked to the staircase and headed upstairs.

Greer's hand trailed the smooth wood paneling as she walked down the corridor toward Bruce's bedroom. She stopped for a moment in front of the portrait of the Wayne family. Her mother had insisted that they sit for the portrait two years ago. Bruce had been so fidgety that day, but their mother had remained patient with him. Greer missed her mother. Would her mother be proud of what she was doing? Taking her own life into her own hands. Wasn't it what her mother always wanted for her? Sure, it probably wasn't the way Martha Wayne had envisioned things for her daughter, but it was the hand Greer Wayne had been dealt.

After knocking twice on Bruce's door, Greer slowly opened the door to his bedroom. He was snuggled under his covers on his king sized bed. His clothes from the day before lay on the floor. Greer picked them up and threw them in his hamper before she tiptoed over to his bed. She leaned over to shake him awake when she spotted a manilla file folder under his pillow. Looking at it curiously, Greer pulled the folder from under his pillow and opened it.

Greer gasped in shock at the contents of the folder. Inside, were crime scene photos. There was a picture of her mother lying on the ground...dead. There was a picture of her father lying on the asphalt...dead. There were at least a dozen photographs and the police report. Still clutching the folder, she shook her brother. "Bruce. Bruce. Wake up."

Bruce groaned.

"I said get up. Don't make me get a glass of water."

His eyes opened as he slowly focused on his older sister. "Good morning to you too," he mumbled sarcastically.

Greer rolled her eyes at her little brother. "What's this?" Bruce focused on the folder in her hand. He looked a little confused before he reached under his pillow. "Yeah-you really should do a better job of hiding things you want kept secret."

"Are you going to tell?"

"Seriously? The first thing you ask me is are you going to tell? Not-I can explain Greer...or, it's not what it looks like...or I don't know how it got there, the magical police report fairy must have put it under my pillow."

"You always know when I'm lying," Bruce muttered.

"Oh-scoot over." Greer gently pushed her brother over to make more room for her to sit beside her brother. She slipped her feet under his covers and Bruce slowly sat up beside her, still leaning against his pillows. Opening the folder once more, she thumbed through its contents, shaking her head. "How did you get this?"

"It wasn't very hard."

"That's not very comforting...a kid can access this kind of stuff. When I was your age…"

"When you were my age, Mom and Dad were still alive and you didn't have to worry about finding their killer." Bruce looked up at his sister innocently. His expression made him look years younger than he actually was.

Greer sighed. "Yeah, I guess you have me there. But, you don't need to find their killer. You're just a kid. Besides, Detective Gordon said that he would find the person responsible."

"Do you really think that he's going to?"

She hesitated for a moment, biting her bottom lip as she thought. "I think that he's going to do everything in his power to find the person. I mean, I have some doubts...but we have to trust someone, don't we? So, I'm going to trust Detective Gordon and that he will keep his word."

"I don't know that I can do that."

"Then trust in me, ok?" Bruce looked up at his sister and slowly nodded his head. "Good. Then I'll be keeping this." Greer hugged the folder close to her. "And don't you dare get another one. You're not the only one with contacts. Now, get your lazy butt up. I'm hungry and Alfred won't feed me until you're downstairs. Do you really want your poor sister to starve to death?"

Bruce gave a half smile, but didn't say anything.

"Do you?" Greer insisted.

"No," he sighed.

"What was that?"

"No."

"Oh-that's not good enough. I think I'm just going to have to tickle it out of you."

"Don't even think about it."

"I definitely thought about it...and I'm gonna do it." Greer tossed the folder at the end of the bed and then reached for her brother and tickled in the crook of his neck. He made a hissing sound before he started to laugh. He tried to push his sister away but she started tickling his stomach.

"Stop!" Bruce struggled between giggles. "Stop!" He slapped at his sister's bandaged hand and she screamed. Bruce quickly sat up with his eyes widened. "Are you alright? I'm so sorry."

Greer sniffled several times before she grinned at her brother over her shoulder. "Gotcha! Now get up. I want breakfast!" She reached down and grabbed the folder. She gently smacked the folder against the top of her brother's head before she hopped off the bed.

After she changed into jeans, flannel shirt, and t-shirt, Greer headed downstairs to the kitchen where Alfred was making pancakes. She sat down at the counter and drifted into thought. She recognized how much things had changed over the last year and that growing up was hard; but Greer knew she had to be strong. She needed to be her brother's hero.